


forget me not

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Love/Hate, M/M, Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: They don’t get to do this often, so they have to make it count.





	forget me not

**Author's Note:**

> I won’t lie, I wrote this in about thirty minutes so I could get a bingo for my [Season of Kink](https://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org/) card before the deadline. It’s a fill for the “biting/bruising” slot. 
> 
> That said, I hope you like it! I sort of wish I had the time to turn it into something longer, but alas. Maybe the next one.

“Do you have any idea what you look like?”

Sirius’ voice is a gravelly murmur, and Severus can just imagine the look on his face—the hooded eyes, the parted mouth. The way his chest rises and falls.

“Get on with it.”

He can imagine the pleased grin that gets him, too, but he doesn’t dare turn to look. Doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“So impatient,” Sirius continues, and it’s almost mocking. The words are accompanied by the touch of a hand, by the trail of his finger down Severus’ spine. He digs his nails in when he reaches the curve of Severus’ arse, watches them sink into the flesh, watches as the touch leaves little red-white marks behind. “It’s a wonder how you do your job.”

 _“Black,”_ Severus growls, and this time it’s accompanied by the press of his hips—a silent order to move. “If you don’t st—”

Sirius laughs—at him, probably, but Severus doesn’t care. Can’t, not when the need is this bad.

A hand curls around his hip, the pads of Sirius’ fingers pressing into his flesh, and it’s too much, too tight, but that’s rather the point, Severus thinks. That’s always been the point—to hurt each other, to mark each other, to bite and bruise and leave the other with a reminder of what they’d done. To make a _claim._

Sirius slams into him, uses his hips to pull him back, to make him _feel_ it. Severus’ next complaint is cut short, the words replaced by a low groan. He tightens his hold on the bed sheets, tries not to think about the smug look he knows Sirius must have on his face.

There is no hesitating after that. Once he starts, Sirius doesn’t stop. He pounds into him, over and over; fills the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin, with heavy breathing and matching moans of pleasure. He bends over Severus’ body, presses a kiss to the bony shoulder, and when that kiss is immediately followed by the pressure of a bite, Severus isn’t surprised. Far from it.

They don’t get to do this often—there is always too much going on, too many missions, too many responsibilities—and so when they do get the chance, they have to make it count. Have to make it last.

Severus feels the sting of his skin breaking beneath Sirius’ touch, and he can imagine the little drops of blood that will form in its wake, the bruise that will be there tomorrow. He ought to hate it, he thinks, but he doesn’t. He revels in it—taking as much as giving.

And if, days later—once he’s returned to Hogwarts, once he’s back in his empty bed, once he’s stripped down to almost nothing—Severus trails his hand across every mark that Sirius had left behind, not to heal, but to remember, well. That’s between him and no one else.

It isn’t as if Sirius doesn’t do the same.


End file.
